Career Counseling
by Megan13
Summary: It's our Savvy Slytherins fifth year... Time for a little career counsling from our favorite potions professor!
1. Shine Like the Sea

**Disclaimer: Not mine...**

**A/N: So I stole some lines from that one song from Clueless... I can't remember the exact tltle & I have no idea who sings it.**

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"Save the lecture," Draco said as he sashayed through the door leading into Snape's office. He plopped down in the chair across from Snape, kicked his boots off, and swung his feet onto the desk in front of him. "I already know what I want to be."

"Oh?" Snape's eyebrow twitched.

"Yes."

"And what might that be?" Snape asked, glaring at the feet on his desk.

"We really don't need to discuss it," Draco said and began picking at his nails. "I've made up my mind and that's that."

Snape's jaw twitched. He had a bad feeling about this.

"It's a really good job," Draco snuggled deeper into his seat. "I mean, not every one can do it. And I'll make loads of money."

"You already have loads of money," Snape told him, his eyes still glued on the boy's feet.

"I know," Draco cocked his head and peered at his professor. "But honestly Sev, I can't loaf of my parent's forever."

"Oh?"

"What do you take me for?" Draco argued. "Do I look like a huge pile of shit to you? I'm not going to sit around day after day wasting away my family's money on fancy dinners and hair-care products. I'm going to do something with my life. Do I look like Potter to you?"

"Draco," Snape bent over his desk and threw Draco's feet off, an annoyed look on his face. "What is it you want to be?"

"Now don't judge Sev," Draco said, recovering from having his feet thrown so hard his knees slammed into his stomach. "You have to hear me out."

"Fine."

"Picture this," Draco waved his hands out in front of him. "Everything's black, no one can see a thing. Then, a gray fog suddenly starts wafting up from the floor. Suddenly, the lights come on and a spotlight catches a solitary figure standing in the middle of a stage. The figure slowly turns, his face masked by the black pimp-hat he's sporting. He runs one hand across the brim of the hat while the other traces the length of his tailored to fit pin-stripe suit. Music starts. A loud, techno beat. And on cue, the man's head whips up and he throws off his hat. What do you see Sev?"

Snape stared at him; his annoyed expression still planted firmly on his face.

"You see a head of platinum blond hair, Witch Weekly's Most Deliciously Delectable Wizard's platinum blond hair, strutting down the runway in a suit tailored by himself and modeled by the most beautiful man alive." By this time, Draco was so into his little schpeal that he was out of his chair with his arms stretched dramatically in front of his face. His eyes were blazing and he was smiling maniacally.

"So you want me to dye my hair blond and become Witch Weekly's Most Deliciously Delectable Wizard?" Snape deadpanned.

"Ew," Draco yelped and fell back into his chair, a horrified look on his face. He pointed to himself. "Me. I'm Witch Weekly's Most Deliciously Delectable Wizard."

"Sounds like you want to be _Wizard_ Weekly's Most Deliciously Delectable Wizard," Snape mumbled.

"What was that?" Draco snapped.

"Nothing," Snape said with a sigh. "Draco, I honestly don't think your parents would go for the whole super-model thing."

"And why not?" Draco glared at him. "I'll have you know that everyone in my family is very into their looks. It would make them proud."

"No Draco, joining the Dark Lord and getting a skull burned into your arm would make them proud," Snape told him. "Traipsing around in pimp-hats and pin-stripes would send them into cardiac arrest. Now I think we should begin looking at your_ real_ options."

"Look _Snape_," Draco jumped out of his seat and slammed his palms down on the desk. He glared the Malfoy Death Glare and felt intense pleasure when Snape actually flinched. Through clenched teeth he snarled, "I wanna be a super-model. And my hair will shine, like the sea. And everyone will wanna be _just_ – _like _– _me_! Do you understand what I'm saying to you?"

"But the pamphlets..."

"_Shine like the sea_!" Draco roared and slammed his hands down once again.

"Fine," Snape yelled, his hands held up in defeat. "Fine, your hair can shine like the freaking sea. You're going to be a super-model."

"With Weekly's Most Deliciously Delectable Wizard!"

"Yeah," Snape nodded his head fervently. "That too."

"And I can only write essays on why I love my jeans," Draco said, his eye twitching.

"Whatever you want," Snape yelped. "Hand in a piece of blank parchment for all I care."

"Great," Draco flashed a brilliant smile, turned around, and headed to the door. "Thanks for the advice Sev. It really helped."

And with that, much to Snape's relief, he walked out of the room, leaving the door open for the next student. Luckily, Snape had heard through the grapevine that Zabini only wanted to be a rockstar. Rockstars weren't as diva-ish as models were, were they?

**The End (Review Please)**


	2. That's a Rap

Hey guys, I'm not too sure if i like this little addition to Career Counseling... So if you could drop me a line to tell me if I should finish it I'd really appreciate it! Thanks

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"Hello Professor," Blaise Zabini said with a smirk as he entered Snape's office and sat down opposite Snape. "And how is your day so far?"

"Excellent," Snape sneered dryly and shoved a set of pamphlets across the desk at Blaise. "Now Mr. Zabini, I feel that you should take a look at a few of these. With your potions and charms marks, I feel you'd be excellent at…"

"Oh, I already know what I want to be Professor…"

Snape shuddered at the déjà vu he was currently experiencing.

"…I want to be a rapper," Blaise finished matter-of-factly and pushed the pamphlets back at Snape. "I originally wanted to be a rockstar, but honestly, I just don't think girls like the skeletal look anymore."

"Now Mr. Zabini, let's look at our real options shall we?" Snape placed his index finger on the pamphlets and pushed them back to Blaises side of the desk.

"I'm sorry Professor," Blaise said with a tight smile as he also placed his index finger on the pamphlets and pushed them back at Snape, "but I already know what I want to be."

"And I'm sorry Mr. Zabini, but rapper is just not in these pamphlets," Snape emphasized his sentence with a forceful shove at the pamphlets. "Please make another selection."

With a glare planted firmly on his face, Blaise plucked the offending pamphlets from the desk and began sorting through them. "Unspeakable, no," he threw the pamphlet behind him. "Auror… No-o," he sing-songed and threw that one too. "Healer," he threw this pamphlet as well. "I don't think so. Ministry official. Hmm… No."

Snape glared at Blaise.

"Look, Professor," Blaise ground out, "I already know what I want to be. I've already bought all the emerald green bandannas in Hogsmeade, cleaned out Malkin's furry Kappa hats, and bought a very large pair of jeans that I plan to wear around my perfectly sculpted arse."

By this time, Blaise Zabini was leaned over Snape's desk, practically growling at his Professor. Snape hadn't felt this threatened since, well, about twenty minutes ago when Draco Malfoy had announced, quite forcefully, that he wished to be Witch Weekly's Most Deliciously Delectable Wizard. But seeing the most calm and collected Slytherin he'd ever come across hunched over his desk about to claw his eyes out, was much scarier than anything young Mr. Malfoy could ever be.

My Gods, the boy's eyes had actually gone black with fury.

"Furthermore, I plan to become With Weekly's Most Deliciously Delectable Wizard at least four times in a row. And don't think I can't do it," Blaises eyes narrowed even farther. "Draco may be all glitz and glam, but the boy likes sparkles. Not that I myself don't indulge in a bathtub full of Sparkel Water every once in a while, but I don't think Witch Weekly would choose him if they knew just how extreme he takes his love of all things shiny."

Snape shuddered at the implications of what Mr. Zabini was saying.

"And if you don't stop trying to suppress my expression through hard-core beats and horrible cursing," Blaise slapped the desk with his palm, "I shall be forced to bust a cap in your arse. Do you understand me Professor?"

"Mr Zabini…"

"Do you understand?"

"I really think…" Snape cleared his throat. "I really think that you should look at the pamphlets. I feel that you would do quite well as the bad cop half of auroring…"

"Bust a cap!" Blaise screeched, his eyes wild.

Snape leapt back in his chair yelping, "What the hell does that even mean?"

"Well…" Blaise leaned back an inch or two, a confused look on his face. "Well I'm not exactly sure. But it's something bad. And it'll kill you… I think."

Thinking that he'd finally gained some ground on the younger Slytherin, Snape leaned forward, smoothing his robes as he did, and glared. "You don't even know what it means, do you?"

"Of course I do," Blaise glared. "Well I will. Just as soon as I consult the Ebonics Dictionary Pansy gave me for Christmas this year."

"You have a dictionary?" Snape chuckled. "One great rapper you'd be."

Well shit, the Zabini boy's eyes had gone black again.

"I'm the shizznit," Blaise whispered dangerously, and bent forward over Snape's desk again. "Don't make me get my crew on your arse. Big Fin is a master at exploding things and P. Parky, man she'll scratch your eyes out… Bitch."

"Did he just call me a bitch?" Snape muttered to himself and then yelped as Blaises hands met with his desk one more time.

"Are you listening to me?"

"Yes!"  
"What am I gonna be when I grow up then?"

"A… A rapper?"

"You bet your arse Bitch," Blaise said, sending one last glare at Snape before turning and storming over to the door. Just before he pulled it closed, he leaned in, and, with a smile on his face, said quite pleasantly, "Thanks Snape. I appreciate your help."

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	3. Papa Don't Preach

Hey! Don't like this one quite as much as the others. But oh well... Review for me.

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Snape leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. He really hated Career Day. Every year it was always the same. His ambitious Slytherins would take a seat opposite him and claim they wanted to be a Troll Wrestler or a photographer for PlayWizard. Snape snorted and took a deep breath. He still had two more hours of counseling left and it wouldn't do to have a mental break-down so early on.

Just as Snape was returning his whiskey filled flask to his desk Miss Pansy Parkinson wandered into his office and plopped down on the chair.

"Have a seat," Snape said dryly and, with another deep breath, pulled out a small stack of pamphlets. "Society wife." Snape passed the pamphlet across the desk. "Charity Organizer." He passed that one too. "Etiquette Instructor." He added that one to the pile. "Last and least," Snape snapped the pamphlet across the desk, "Bake-sale Head."

Pansy bit her bottom lip and tapped each pamphlet with a finger before snatching up the whole batch and throwing them behind her. "I already know what I'm going to be."

Snape's eye began to twitch again. "And what is that Miss Parkinson?"

"I'm going to be the next Madonna," Pansy said smugly. "I already have slutty schoolgirl uniform and it's not hard to cast a voice enhancement spell like she did."

"Miss Parkinson..."

"No Snape," Pansy held up her perfectly manicured hand. "I already have a stage name and bought as many cone shaped bras as possible. Plus, I already have a fan base. I mean, firsties pay high dollar for my late-night concerts in the Common Room. And I've had a show in Hufflepuff. Second years showed up. I'm already climbing the ladder to superstardom. It's only a matter of time before I'm shaking my ass Shakira style in front of a million screaming fans on MTV."

"Miss Parkinson," Snape said again. "I highly doubt your parents would be happy if you gave up the chance to ally yourself with a wealthy Pureblood family..."

"Look Snape," Pansy said through gritted teeth, "I'm going to become the next Madonna. I _will_ have millions of screaming fans willing to pay thousands for a piece of leftover toast and I won't have to ally myself with a wealthy Pureblood family because I will have all of the most eligible men in the world bowing at my feet. Oh yes, I will."

Snape pushed his chair a bit farther away from the desk and said, after clearing his voice a few times, "Ah, Pansy... You have realized that you'd have to, um, be in contact with muggles and muggle-borns?"

"No I won't," Pansy said icily. "As if I would ever touch a mudblood."

"Well then how do plan to..."

"Magic," Pansy said and rolled her eyes. "I am a witch Snape."

"Miss Parkinson," Snape said, his eye twitching. "I think you should take a look at the pamphlets. You seem to be perfect for that etiquette..."

"Listen you..." Pansy swiftly stood and glared down at Snape, who was cowering in his chair. "I want to become a Pop Star and no one will stand in my way. Draco will design my clothes, Blaise will do many cameos in my videos, and Millicent will be my backup dancer. Then, when I've been on the top for twenty or so years I'll make a stupid movie that completely flops, marry the director, who will be at least fifteen years my junior, and plan farewell tour after farewell tour. I will then buy a castle out in the country and speak with a fake English accent..."

Pansy and Snape looked at each other for a moment.

"...Or maybe I'll get an American accent," Pansy pondered. She shook her head and continued her glare. "Anyway, it doesn't matter. I have already made my decision and will only wear cone shaped bras on Mondays, black leather on Tuesdays, wedding dresses on Wednesdays, spandex leotards on Thursdays, and full pimp regalia on Fridays. Weekends will be reserved for my random Britney Spears attacks in which only red body suits or skanky schoolgirl uniforms will be allowed." Pansy's eyes narrowed. "And if anyone, and I mean anyone, tells me any different I shall go Papa Don't Preach on their ass. Got it?"

Snape, who more horrified than terrified, nodded his head vigorously.

"Thanks Snape," Pansy said cheerfully, smoothing her skirt. "That really helped."

When the door shut behind her a few moments later, the only thing to be heard was Snape's head repeatedly whacking against his desk.


End file.
